


you think of him, and i'll think of you

by synthehol_king



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Sad Brunt is still gross and mean, Semi-One Sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synthehol_king/pseuds/synthehol_king
Summary: It was ironic that he should seek shelter in a place so many seemed to be looking to escape.  As if it weren’t complicated enough to be sleeping with someone he could at best describe as pitifully mediocre, poisoned with off-worlder ideals and an all-together pathetic excuse for a Ferengi.Especially when that someone was Quark.





	you think of him, and i'll think of you

**Author's Note:**

> mood: [tom waits makes me sad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTfwWKlVLYM)
> 
> Set post-canon with just a little nod to the “season 8” canon explored in the documentary.
> 
> also definitely inspired by the qrunt and quodo fics written by [jazzypizzaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzypizzaz/pseuds/jazzypizzaz) and [spacebubble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebubble/pseuds/spacebubble)
> 
> I haven’t written anything in so long and this ship is awful please accept this garbage I offer into the void

It was an hour past last call, and a half hour since Quark started closing down the bar. All the customers had left; save for two. The drunken Lurian slurring his words at end of the bar had been lingering for quite some time, much to the rest of the staff’s annoyance. Quark seemed a little impatient as well, but each time he would turn to end the conversation, he seemed to think of something he’d like to add himself, and would be right back in again. Later, he’d complain that Morn never knew when to shut up. But for the time being, he was rooted to the spot, cleaning the same glass he’d been holding for the past ten minutes as they chatted.

It might have worn Brunt’s patience a little thinner had he not been nursing his second glass of Saurian brandy. Normally, he would have preferred something more traditional, but Quark had recently been set on expanding his tastes in alcohol; among other things. Apparently, this was a favorite of Captain Sisko’s. Or had been. Brunt was still a little uncertain as to what exactly had become of Deep Space Nine’s former captain ( _or whether or not he was really considered “former” as of this point_ ), but nevertheless, his taste was admirable as far as alcohol was concerned. For a human. 

He tipped his head back and took another sip, using the motion as an excuse to glance Quark’s way for a moment. He took in the curve of his shoulders as he leaned against the countertop, the secretive smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he whispered some secret bit of gossip to the Lurian. He looked absolutely sinister in the dimmed bar lighting, dressed almost completely in black, save for the bright maroon scarf peeking out of his collar. Like a murderer attending a funeral.

Brunt supposed he could stand to wait a bit longer.

His visits had become more frequent over the last month or so, though neither of them had made any attempt to acknowledge it. The excuses had likewise become less and less concrete, or even relevant as to justify Brunt making the trip to the station. He might have begrudged Quark to make the trip himself once in a while, but since his brother’s latest “promotion,” Ferenginar had begun to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And, unlikely as he was to admit it, Brunt was finding himself less and less at home on their planet as well. Since the ascension of Grand Nagus Rom ( _the very thought of such a title still left him retching a little_ ), and the subsequent rampant spread of unseemly Federation ideals – namely this concept of a “living wage” and “workers’ rights” – had left him feeling like a stranger in his own home. He almost shuddered to think that this bar, this hollow tourist exhibit of a proper Ferengi business venture – would soon be all that remained of the world he’d grown up in.

Ironic, it would seem, that he should seek shelter in a place so many seemed to be looking to escape. Their captain was gone; Starfleet was slowly but surely releasing its grip on the station, while the Bajorans seemed to be letting it fall into the hands of its religious leaders, rather than their military. 

Even their constable was gone.

Brunt felt a little startled when Quark chose that specific moment to meet his eye from across the bar, as though overhearing any mention of the missing changeling. However, he relaxed when the bartender’s gaze softened, almost sheepishly, and he wordlessly gestured to his gossipy patron. Brunt, in turn, softened a bit at the brief glimpse of sincerity in the motion. Any hint of an apology, however, was quickly dropped when Quark’s smirk deepened, and he turn his eyes back towards Morn, clearly enjoying the knowledge that Brunt was patiently waiting for him.

Brunt swallowed hard, gritting his teeth at the sudden flush traveling up his neck from the pit of his stomach. 

Obviously it was just about sex. At least as far as Quark was concerned, anyway. The first few times they never really talked, or bothered to stick around afterwards. Sleeping over was out of the question. Until last time.

Brunt had pushed himself up on his elbows, preparing to roll over and out of the bed and onto his feet, but then Quark wrapped his hand around the back of Brunt’s neck. He looked down at him curiously, and was met with a more serious expression than he was used to seeing on Quark’s face. He looked a little sad, but mostly tired. And maybe a little nervous. 

“ _Stay._ ”

And that was that.

Only it wasn’t. Because now things were considerably more complicated. As if it weren’t complicated enough to be sleeping with someone he could at best describe as pitifully mediocre, poisoned with off-worlder ideals and an all-together pathetic excuse for a Ferengi. And even that could easily be explained away – attributed to lust, or just plain boredom. But you didn’t spend the night curled around someone, burying your face in their neck and entangling your limbs with theirs because you were bored.

Especially not when that someone was Quark.

And as for Quark’s reasoning, he wasn’t stupid enough to think it might parallel his own. It was of a more perpendicular nature. Something about the way he’d allowed Brunt to curl comfortably along the curve of his back, while he laid still and careful, never returning the warmth he was so eager to hide himself in, told him that. He wasn’t seeking Brunt’s affections so much as he was seeking the affections of anyone at all. 

Or, conversely, one particular, far-out-of-reach person’s affections.

Brunt grimaced at the sweet, lingering aftertaste of the brandy. Saurians had far sweeter palettes than Ferengi, but he suspected it was actually the sugar water Quark used to dilute his more expensive stock. He felt himself smile, in spite of the taste. Though he never would have believed or admitted it before all this nonsense with the Dominion, Quark was a Ferengi where it counted.

In fact, Brunt might have once even called Quark his opposite. It had always seemed the two were pushing against one another, in spite of sharing a common goal: profit. Or perhaps Quark was the one doing the pushing, while Brunt was strong-arming him in the opposite direction, trying to drag him towards what he knew was best, for his own good. Now it seemed Quark was doing the dragging, while Brunt followed. Adrift along the Great Material Continuum, clinging to a lifeboat that sold watered-down Saurian brandy in replicated glasses. He closed his eyes, and let the uneasy ebb and flow of the tide surround him.

“Ready to go?”

Brunt opened his eyes. The bar was empty. The sounds of Morn’s incessant chatting had silenced, leaving only the faint hum of the station’s temperature control in their place. Quark was standing above him, looking down with a smirk. He casually turned over Brunt’s empty glass on the table, nodding his head in the direction of the doors. “Or should I take Morn up on his offer for a few rounds of Fizbin and Blackholes?”

Brunt couldn’t help but smirk back as he stood, snaking his arm around the other’s waist. Quark rolled his eyes, but kissed him back when Brunt pulled him into an embrace. For now, at least he was still floating.

_The river will provide._


End file.
